Complacency
by artlessICTOAN
Summary: No one had ever understood why he seemed so patient with Mello and unaffected by the – presumed – one-sided rivalry he had with him. An exploration of Near's thoughts on his rivalry with Mello, meronia, can be read as mutual or one-sided, rated for swears


I THOUGHT I COULD RESIST so I rewatched dn for the first time in years (all thanks to That One Amv that I'm sure everyone must've seen by now) and uhhhh... yeah. I'm so fucking weak. (I can't believe I never noticed how fucking gay mello and near are before now..)

I kinda headcanon that near was actually at wammy's for the longest? like he's younger than matt and mello, but I like the idea that he ended up there at a much younger age, while the other two were taken in when they were a little bit older, idk it's not important, just a random thought of mine. tbh this whole fic is just me spouting a whole bunch of my weird headcanons, but hopefully someone out there will find it interesting!

not sure if I'll be doing any more dn fic, I've got one or two ideas for oneshots milling about and I would really like to explore this ship some more, buuut idk. we'll just have to wait and see what happens I guess

okok I'm done now, hope yall enjoy!

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No one had ever understood why he seemed so patient with Mello and unaffected by the – presumed – one-sided rivalry he had with him.

Mello certainly seemed to thrive on making his life difficult and honestly, he might not have put up with it, had he not also given him a kind of respect that he couldn't get from anyone else.

To all the other children at the orphanage and even the adults, Near was… different. Other. He wasn't human, not really. They treated him like he was simultaneously some kind of higher being, an avatar of pure intellect that they could never hope to match, who was above petty mortal concerns, but also a fragile little doll, sweet and innocent, a _thing_ that needed to be put into a protective glass box, only brought out on occasion to marvel and fuss over.

But Mello had never been one to follow society's norms and he was already so much more perceptive than anyone else realised. Mello saw Near not as the inhuman spirit, or a frail little boy, but as an annoying, smug, vicious little shit who could definitely be taken down a peg or two, if he just worked hard enough at it.

It was inexplicably refreshing to be treated in such a way.

Admittedly, it was sometimes draining to be the constant source of scorn in the older boy; his screaming often grated against his ears, harsher even than the screech of metal against china that always cut right through his skin to sing in his bones; the burning glares were an almost ever-present distraction, pulling at the edges of his consciousness, keeping him always just slightly off-balance; how he sometimes found his favourite toys disassembled into dozens of tiny parts, scattered throughout the house in a malicious treasure-hunt that left his weak legs aching for days.

But that was how Mello treated _everyone_ he saw as an equal, or a threat to his position, and knowing that the older boy didn't consider him worthy special treatment was more precious than any amount of praise and reverence anyone else could give him.

And it wasn't like he wasn't just as competitive – it was inevitable growing up in a place like Wammy's House, where the announcement of test scores was practically a ritual and only the best of the best were offered any real freedoms – but, unlike Mello, he didn't require outside validation to satiate his competitive side.

Mello needed to be _told_ he was the best, Near already _knew_ he was the best.

Not at everything, not even in general – he was self-aware, not arrogant – but certainly in the ways that were valued by the orphanage, and, by extension, Mello.

He didn't care for the acknowledgement he always received for his achievements, in all honesty he quite often found himself annoyed by it, by the heavy hands patted against him, despite his flinching shoulders, by the loud exclamations of the younger children, or the hidden stares of the older ones and the pestering requests for help studying that were always met with silence.

But, then Mello would glare at him and declare that _next time_ would be the time he was defeated, and suddenly it was worth every tiny irritation.

Matt had questioned him about it once, after the ceremonial result papers were carefully mounted on the board that dominated the main living area – and how clever to display them _there_ , in the same place where the children came to play and read and relax; never for a single second free from the stern eyes of expectation, the silent reminder that the one sitting next to you was a potential threat, an opponent to be defeated – Mello had fled the room the second he'd confirmed what he no doubt already expected, whether to throw a fit, or throw himself into his studies with that particular fire that both confused and fascinated Near, he couldn't say.

He didn't bother to look up from his puzzle at the soft thud of a body crashing down in front of him, but Matt didn't sound offended when he said, "Well, guess I should say congratulations, but I doubt you really care enough to hear it, so I won't."

The 'click' as another piece settled into place was deeply satisfying.

After a long few seconds, he spoke up again. "Why do you even bother? You obviously don't get anything out of it – you don't even use those 'special privileges' you get for being top of class."

It was always difficult for him to discern emotion from voice, but Matt didn't sound even remotely accusing, or upset, or even confused. He glanced up from the intense white of his half-complete puzzle to catch a quick look at his expression, just to be sure.

Matt's grin was wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes and showing off slightly crooked teeth; it widened further as the older boy held out a puzzle-piece to him.

He smiled for a brief moment and took the offer, it easily snapped together with its neighbours.

"I don't, but-" he paused, a finger idly twisting into the hair at his temple "-I don't like to be static, neither does Mello." Another piece and another line was completed, he moved back to the other side and started the next one down. "When he first came here, I didn't have a reason to try, so he was at the top of class, but without a true equal, he… became complacent, as though he was satisfied with his current knowledge and abilities and no longer needed to strive to improve himself."

"So, you just want to help him advance? How _noble_ of you." Even he could pick up on the mocking knife hidden beneath the velvet of Matt's tone.

Near shook his head, hand absently picking out the next piece from the pile on the carpet and slotting it into place. "Of course not, it's entirely selfish on my part – winning's no fun without a challenge; I give him a target to strive for, he is a pursuer to keep me on my toes, the arrangement benefits us both, but I wouldn't have started it if I didn't have something to gain."

"You never cared about winning before Mello got here though."

He paused for only a second, were it anyone but Matt, it might've gone unnoticed. Fingers twirling until he could feel the faint throbbing of a pulse struggling to reach his fingertip, he shrugged loose shoulders. "Mello always looks so... _bright_ when he wins at something, I wondered if I might be able to feel that way too."

The loud cackle probably drew the attention on everyone in the room, but neither he nor the dark-haired boy were the type to care about that.

"Admit it, you just love having all his attention on you," Matt said, a nasty grin stretching across his face.

Near wondered if his responding one was just as wicked. "A welcome side effect."

And so, they would always compete, with biting words and hard glares, plans within plans to unravel the mind of their rival, always pushing each other forwards, faster, _further_ , to be more than they could ever have been alone.

He would surpass L, as would Mello, but not because of any education, or indoctrination, or idolism… but because neither would be content with mediocrity while the other was there, taunting from the next milestone. And, when Mello finally reached him, overtook him – and he _would_ , Near was as certain of that as he was of his own capabilities – he could only hope that the blond would spare a glance back, flash one of those beautiful, mocking smirks, and tell him to hurry up.


End file.
